


Aftermath

by Rollinginthesheep



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, just a small drabblish depiction of two characters i think would be interesting together, my heartbreaks at the idea of the ruined library tbh, post war feelings and all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 04:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5078467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rollinginthesheep/pseuds/Rollinginthesheep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two kindred spirits deal with the aftermath of a war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from tumblr: "You don't get to pity me" and this spawned as a result!

The sunrise didn't look any different, despite the embers that still crackled among the crumbling ruins of the school grounds. Theodore didn't see redemption or a promise of a brighter tomorrow like the others did. It was difficult to see a bright future when the very castle he'd spent the last seven years of his life calling home was now merely a skeleton crumbled to dust.

Theodore had never felt as though he'd truly belonged anywhere and Hogwarts was no exception. He'd been a reclusive child; one who'd never truly learnt how to function among his peers. Maybe it had to do with the sob story of his mother passing away before he could even walk. Maybe it was simply the genetics from his deranged death eater of a father. Either way, he'd always felt like a somewhat different to the other children his age and getting sorted into Slytherin didn't do much to hinder this, merely making it easier to hide among the tombs of the library. It made sense in light of this that he'd found himself returning to the very place that had almost felt comforting in his time at this school, even if seeing some of the destroyed shelves of books he'd read a long time ago caused more of an ache in his chest than he'd like to admit.

Theodore sat upon his favourite desk, which had miraculously survived the carnage with only dust and the occasional scratch to signal it had even been there a few hours ago when the fight was going on. He could see faintly see the ink stains he'd made when he'd knocked over an ink pot back in fifth year writing a particularly vexing herbology essay. It was little consistencies like these that reminded him that he was actually inside Hogwarts and not some trashed parody of the school. But again, that was essentially what the school was now.

Dumbledore was dead. Snape was dead. Countless others, whose bodies had blurred together as he'd strode through the hall to get here, were dead. Never again would that hyperactive muggleborn Colin Creevly attempt to take Hermione Granger's photo as she spent yet another countless hour two tables down from here, studying or merely reading for pleasure. Never again would Severus Snape show obvious favouritism to Slytherins and find yet another bemusing way to mock Harry Potter about the state of his potion. And never again would the student body be whole again, the gaps always noticeable for those who were around to witness how things were before.

Theodore was never a fan of the bustling activity of the great hall, but in comparison to the morgue it had become, he found himself yearning to have his anonymity back. The not be known as a death eater's son and to not have seen so much loss, _so much death,_ in his eighteen years of life.

“Theodore." A soft voice called from a few feet away. Theodore glanced upward from the desk he'd been running his dirtied hands along. Hermione Granger stood in front of the desk that had once been unofficially considered her own. It was not merely a pile of rubble, squashed under a shelf of tattered parchment.

Hermione looked as weary as Theodore felt. Her face was patterned by dirt and blood, both her own and others. It caked her hair and her muggle attire and her equally muddy coloured eyes regarded him with something unreadably disheartening.

“Granger." Theodore managed in response. Seeing her stand alongside the remains of the place he'd seen her so many times in their childhood was utterly nostalgic, too much for him to bear. He tore his hazel eyes away, focusing back on the dented wood under his fingertips.

“It's Hermione. Seven years of nods and mutual appreciation for this space warrants a little less formality, especially in spite of everything." It was then Theodore realized what he'd seen reflected in her gaze. It was the exact same emotion he'd been feeling. The pain of seeing a physical embodiment of the area they both considered their own sanctuary broken, a representation of the effects of a war neither of them truly wanted to fight to begin with.

“I do suppose that you are right. But to regard you so informally is yet another reminder of everything that has happened. And despite my need to see all this rubble, part of me doesn't wish to be reminded." Theodore wasn't quite sure why he was telling her this. Maybe it was the knowledge that the both of them were so similar, yet dealt completely different circumstances that caused him to speak with such honesty. He heard the sound of her footsteps and glanced upward, meeting her brown eyes as she sunk down onto the table beside his own.

“I understand." She replied simply, her gaze casting downward. A passive silence falls between them, comfortable in itself. The library was a quiet place, and to talk inside of it felt like a violation, hence why they spoke in such hushed and reverent tones. Despite this, Theodore found himself to be the first one to break the silence moments later.

“Do you remember the final thing Madam Pince said to us both? The night in the library two weeks into first year?" It wasn't a particularly important memory but for some reason Theodore felt the need to rehash it. His memories were lit with a brighter, more saturated colour, that the library no longer had. It had been shortly into his first year at Hogwarts and he'd already formed the habit of spending as much of his free time encased in the bookcases as he could. Hermione Granger had been the only other person from his year that he'd noticed doing the same. Both of them were alone, no one wanting to walk with them to class or help them on their homework. They never sat near each other but Theodore couldn't help but feel she was his first companion, someone who understood the feeling of being alone in a school full of people whom had forged deep bonds so quickly.

“She said that no matter what, the library is always home to those of us whom need it." Hermione recounted softly and staring ahead, no doubt caught up in her own reminiscing. The librarian was tough but fair and it had broken something in him to see her laying still with the other bodies of those who'd paid the ultimate price in the battle. Theodore hoped she had a painless and quick death. She didn't deserve to suffer.

“Well, look at our home now." Theodore motioned around them and Hermione glanced over at him. There was that dreadful look in her eyes, the one he'd been squirming under since she'd entered.

“I'm sorry." She said acknowledging the hippogriff in the room. For Hermione she had her friends, she had Harry Potter and the Weasley family. She had her title as a war hero and her infamous intelligence. Meanwhile, all he had to speak of at the end of this war was a dead death eater father and the knowledge that no matter what people would always expect him of having followed in his footsteps, dark mark or not. Theodore knew the Nott Manor would now be his and he made plans to burn it to the ground as soon as he could. He didn't want the ghosts and demons of his family to live any longer. He would do that for his mother and the victims of his father's tyrannical nature.

However, instead of finding comfort in Hermione's eyes, Theodore felt anger. She was pitying him for things neither she nor him could control and it vexed him for reasons he couldn't explain.

“You don't get to pity me." He spat, tone harder than he'd intended. She flinched and the instinctive action made Theodore break a little. It was the way he'd seen his father's victims do moments before they were cursed in unimaginable ways. “I'm sorry." He groaned his head landing in his hands, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

Once they began he couldn't stop them. He cried for his mother, for the person his father could have been. He cried for the library and for the librarian who would no longer provide a distant but warm motherly love to him. He cried for all the things he could have done to stop this war, to make the right and brave decision that Slytherin's were known not to make.

Hermione, to her credit, dealt with his tears well. She placed a hand on his shoulder blade and rubbed it in a calming manner. Her feminine touch was one he wasn't used to but he felt himself craving the comfort only a woman could provide. It wasn't romantic, or even sexual, it was merely something primal that any child desired.

“You don't have to be sorry." Theodore looked up at the tremble in Hermione's response, surprised to see tears rolling down her stained cheeks. It made his chest ache and he reached out for her on instinct. She leant on his shoulder and Theodore stiffened slightly as her distinctly girly scent mixed in with the smell of battle invaded his nostrils.

“We will rebuild it, I promise." Theodore wasn't sure if he was saying this to comfort her or to comfort himself, but it had the desired effect. Hermione nodded slightly and they sat in sniffled silence among the charred ruins of _the one place_ they had both truly called home.


End file.
